


Room 103

by amortentiallysweet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, HarryPotter - Freeform, M/M, harryanddracobeingidiots, makeupsex, theleakycauldron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 04:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18683902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amortentiallysweet/pseuds/amortentiallysweet
Summary: After a fight with Harry Draco finds himself in The Leaking Cauldron while Harry is sorting files in his office. Though, both would rather have make-up sex instead.





	Room 103

**Author's Note:**

> this is my very, very first fanfiction in english that i post online. help. i'm nervous, though i doubt that anybody will ever read this haha  
> pls give me feedback if anybody do come across this, thank loads xx

 

The door fell shut with an immense slam that made the wall tremble dangerously. However, the Leaky Cauldron trembled with every train that drove by, so a loud door slam would most certainly not be the reason for a collapse. Draco Malfoy tossed his bag carelessly on his bed in the middle of the room and walked to the window. Clenching his teeth, he stared at an indeterminate point in the distance. 

He couldn’t believe that he was here. 

Once again. 

Since when did he let himself treat like this? 

The sky was cloudy and lay upon London like a bleak haze. Not a single ray of sun managed to shine through the clouds. Draco hadn’t seen a blue spot on the sky for weeks, and it was August. Shaking his head, he averted his eyes. His rage was clearly visible by the fact that he somehow was thinking about the weather even though he never cared about how warm or cold it was. If the sun was shining or if it was raining. 

Swiftly, he looked around himself and the room. 

Room 103. 

Again. 

The peeled off tapestries and the ugly wood of the used, shabby bed were too familiar to him. He hated it here. In front of the bed was a cupboard, made of the same seedy wood with a burned down candle, a mirror, and a bronze bell placed on top. And on each side of the bed a night table. The same wood. 

Draco’s mouth twisted. 

He examined the flower garnished bed sheets that a bunch of other people had slept under already, and a sudden wave of nausea came upon him when he thought about sleeping in it tonight. A train drove by. The walls started trembling, plaster trickled from the ceiling. Couldn’t have Tom given him a better room instead? Room 45 was okay. And Room 70 had a more comfortable bed at least. Draco was perfectly certain that he would be waking up with horrible back pain tomorrow morning, if he slept in his bed tonight. 

He sighed, loudly. 

He put a hand in his jeans pocket. The tips of his fingers felt the wrinkled piece of parchment that he had found on the kitchen table this morning. Again, he felt anger rising up and he drew back his hand. Instead, he thrummed his hands against his quads, quite tensely, and made a step forward. 

The wooden floor beneath him creaked with that movement. 

Strained, he tried not to lose it. Because right now, he did not have any other choice than staying where he was. Going back was not an option. 

He ran his fingers through his hair und discovered his own reflection in the dusty mirror on the cupboard. For a few seconds, Draco froze and stared into his own grey eyes. Dark blue bags stood out under them and radiated a level of exhaustion that he didn’t even feel himself. 

He listened to his inner voice but could only find a big ball of anger and frustration which became bigger and more intense with every second. 

Hastily, Draco wiped back his blonde strands from his face and approached the mirror. His reflection stared back: a pale, young man, mid 20, a slight idea of a beard which gave him a rather shabby look. His sallow skin created a considerable contrast to his black cloak and his black button-down shirt, and thereby stood out even more. 

Draco bit his lower lip. 

The circumstance that he ended up being here again, that the situation made him coming here again, created a huge wave of emotion inside of him. Squinting his eyes, he examined his face, his blonde hair, and his red, chapped lips. 

Then he unbuttoned his shirt a bit. Draco hesitate and considered his neck. A wonderful red shining mark flaunted on his left crook of his neck, a bit over his collarbone. Without screwing his face, not at all surprised, Draco gently stroked the bruise with the tip of two fingers. He had already apprehended that something like that might have been showing the next day and had, therefore, reckoned to walk around with high shirt collar. 

He grimaced at himself as he was turning his face and discovered another mark on his neck. 

Harry really did a good job, he thought bitterly. 

He stiffened at once and remembered why he was at the Leaky Cauldron. Again. With a quick movement he let his arm, that was observing his mark before, fall and clenched his teeth. Next to his refection in the mirror, he sighted the bag that he had tossed onto the bed earlier. He buttoned his shirt and sat down on the mattress.  
It creaked under his weight and once again the walls trembled as a train drove by. 

Somebody knocked on the door. 

“Yeah?”, grunted Draco. 

The door was opened ajar. The head of a woman with dark-brown curls appeared, her smile vanished the second she realised who was sitting on the bed.  
“Oh”, she said. 

Draco kept a straight face and replied pointed politely. 

“What can I do for you?” 

“Eat. I mean… will you eat dinner at The Leaky Cauldron?” 

Draco considered his options. Then he nodded. 

“Oh okay.” The witch seemed surprised. “Do you know what you’d like?” 

“No.” 

“Good. I mean… you can order by card of course. Is that all right?” 

Draco couldn’t help but notice her nervousness that he caused. But how was he supposed to prevent the tension with all the rumours that had been going around in the wizarding world these days. He forced himself to his friendliest smile. 

“Thank you.” 

“If questions or wishes should come up, please do not hesitate to ring the bell”, the witch said mechanically, hastily, and bobbed her head in the cupboard’s direction.

Then she disappeared before Draco could have nodded thankfully. 

With mixed emotions, he stared at the flaking paint of the door. Even yesterday evening his name had been in the newspapers. Unfortunately, Draco and Goyle had been eavesdropped when they had been talking about the upcoming meeting among ‘Death Eater children’. Draco had crossed paths with his former friend on coincidence when he had been on his way to Harry’s apartment. In fact, he hadn’t had anything to do with any of his former Hogwarts classmates. But apparently, people wanted to believe that they were planning yet another Death Eater community. It was shocking indeed, how many wizards and witches trusted news like that. 

Draco leaned back his head and closed his eyes. 

The meeting Goyle and he had talked about was in three days, though right now he had absolutely no motivation whatsoever to attend it. He didn’t want to see any of them, after no contact for months because nobody was interested in what the others were doing nor did he want to talk about their mothers and father who were altogether imprisoned in Azkaban. In short, it was going be depressing, and it made Draco angry thinking about how many people still believed he was going to become a Death Eater, when all he wanted was to walk away from it. 

He yawned. 

Last night he had not slept much. Actually, not at all. After Harry and he had fallen into the cushions, sweaty from the sex, they had still been laying there for quite a time, quiet. Draco should have known that Harry was going to approach the topic. But still he had not been prepared. 

He took a deep breath as he relived their argument in his head. 

“Don’t you want to do something?”, Harry had asked, still breathing heavily. 

Draco had not wanted to talk about it and had therefore only shrugged, stroking Harry’s naked chest. But being the Gryffindor Auror, he had not left the topic like that. Draco had already felt his anger rising up as Harry had sat straight and considered him, seriously. 

“Draco, this is serious matter.”

Again, he had only shrugged. He too had sat up and searched for Harry’s lips in the dark to lock them with his. He really had not wanted to talk about it. 

But Harry had dodged. 

“You have to look for a proper job.” 

“I got a job.” 

“You work at Borgin & Burkes”, Harry had snorted. 

“So what?” 

“I was rather talking about a job at the Ministry. You need to show people that you’re not a Death Eater. Or don’t want to be one.” 

“I like my job.” 

Harry had sighed noisily. Draco hated those discussions. Even at that moment he had been aware of how this conversation might degenerate. Had Harry not pressed on. Had he let himself laid once more instead of wanting to talk about Draco’s problems. 

“Don’t you not care about what people say?”, Harry had asked. 

To that, Draco had moaned, loudly and annoyed. 

“It’s only rumours now but you know perfectly well how publicity works. Today rumours, tomorrow you’re suddenly not allowed to enter anyone’s shop because people are scared you will force them to join ‘your purpose’”, had Harry added. 

“And you know perfectly well that I will not be appointed by no one. And now-“, Draco had slung an arm around Harry’s body to pull him closer, “let me shut you up.”  
Again, Harry refused. 

“If only you would let me talk to them-“

“No.” 

“Draco, be reason-“ 

Now it had been Draco who had backed off. They had had this discussion so many times already. All the time and everywhere. He hated them. He felt weak and incompetent every time Harry suggested to get him a job. And every time he had to force himself to pull himself together, to shut out his anger and frustration. But last night he was incapable. 

“If you, being Harry fucking Auror-Potter, are able to organise a job at the Ministry for me, then why don’t you just talk with the Daily Prophet and prevent them from publishing all that bullshit in the first place?”, Draco had let slipped before he had thought it through. 

“You know that I can’t do much about that”, had Harry said quietly. 

“You haven’t even tried!” 

The atmosphere was ruined and Draco had noticed that his body had cooled down as well. So it was going to be only one round of sex. Angrily, he swung his legs off the mattress, turning his back to Harry. 

“If you weren’t that lazy, you would have been able to do something already. Dammit, Draco. Get your shit together. You are not a first year anymore. You are capable of doing things on your own.” 

Harry’s hard voice had made Draco flinch. And whether intended or not, he had reminded Draco of his father who was still sitting in Azkaban, serving his time in prison with the other Death Eaters. 

“Good, then leave me alone.” 

Draco had closed his eyes. 

“What?”, Harry had said. 

“You did understand me. Leave me alone then, if you think that I’ll be able to do it on my own. Stop interfering in my matters. The rumours do not target you. Keep on living your Auror life as before.”

His calm voice had alarmed Draco himself because on his inside it looked quite the opposite. His emotions were a chaos. There was a hurricane of feelings, rioting inside of him, and he did not know what to do, feel, sense or to think. 

“Draco, you can’t-“

But Draco had turned to him and flashed at Harry’s eyes. 

“Oh, damn yes, I can. Only because you have your job and everyone praises you doesn’t mean I want it too. I am happy with my job and I don’t give a fuck about any rumours the Prophet spreads about me.” 

Harry had kept quiet. 

“If you can’t deal with that, because, I don’t know, your image will be damaged or because you might get into trouble with the Ministry, I am sorry, but leave. Piss off, live your great life and let me live my own.” 

“Are you serious?”, Harry had said faintly. 

In Draco’s ears had been an annoyingly loud swoosh and his heart had throbbed so heavily in his chest he almost didn’t understand what Harry had just said. He was furious. So frustrated that his friend was right and he wasn’t. So upset about the fact that after all these years his family was still giving him trouble, that he still couldn’t live a proper life. And that he was dependent on Harry Potter’s help in order to live happily. To be accepted. 

His mind was a mess, everything had been spinning as Draco had heard himself talking again. 

“Yes, I am dead serious.” 

And with that they had went to sleep. 

Draco opened his eyes with a start and stared at the hideous cupboard on the other side of the room. Again his fingers felt the piece of parchment in his jeans pocket. Finally, he pulled it out and smoothened it. It hit him renew when he read Harry’s untidy, aggressive handwriting on the parchment. The quill must have been pressed quite hardly, each word had left deep rills on the paper. 

 

Be gone before I come back home.  
Get your fucking life together.  
\- H. 

 

Harry was the only person in his life who meant something to Draco. Arguing was nothing new to them, it happened almost as often as they slept together. Many times, Draco had Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron because he had needed a break from Harry. But it had never happened that he asked him to leave. And Draco had never received a message from Harry telling him to be gone before he returned home. With a lump in his throat as big as his own fist that screwed up the parchment right now, he swallowed his desperation that had been rising up in him.

He sighed, quietly. 

Normally, he would stay at the Leaky Cauldron for one night, Harry would appear in his room the next morning and then they would have make up sex in one of the creaking beds. But Draco felt that it was different this time. He knew Harry wouldn’t come to the Leaky Cauldron to have make up sex tomorrow morning. He opened his eyes. Tomorrow there would be no make up sex. He was alone. And he had to get used to it. 

With a swift movement, he wiped off his bag from the bed, just to let himself fall backwards on the hard mattress. A train driving by made the wall tremble once again. The bed squeaked suspiciously, and Draco closed his eyes again. He placed the arm whose hand was still clenching onto the parchment upon his face and did not move. He felt emptiness rushing through him, persuading him of guilty conscience. 

A loud, sudden knock made Draco recoil. He was awake at once. Awake? When had he fallen asleep? How long had he been sleeping? Was is the next day? Hastily, he sat up. He felt the crumpled-up parchment in his fist and all events broke down upon him like a massive wave and with it came all his mixed emotions that he had ran away from earlier. 

It knocked again. 

Sleepily, the word Harry hovered through his head. 

But when he asked the person in, not Harry but the curly woman appeared. 

“Sir”, she said with a rather hesitant voice “you didn’t come for dinner. Tom sent me to look for you.” 

Dinner. Draco remembered. 

“I overslept. I’m coming now.” 

The witch gave him a small smile, then withdrew her head from the door and closed it. 

Moaning, Draco fell back onto the bed. Their argument had really happened, he was back here again, and lonely. He was longing for Harry. And felt hatred against himself rising up at once. Since when had he been so dependent on somebody? Arguments were nothing new to them. But still, this time it was different. This time there won’t be a Harry waiting for Draco to come out of the bathroom with only his towel around his waist, only to smile his wicked smile and undress him.  
He sighed, sat straight up and decided to fill his empty stomach for a start. 

 

Sighing heavily, Harry shoved another file on the pile of folders that had been growing considerably big next to him. He wished the pile on his right side to be the same height but, to his disenchantment, it was rather ridiculously small. He moved his neck, let his bones crack, and grabbed the cup of coffee he had placed beside him. Harry was sitting on the floor of his office and was sorting cases, that he had solved – and not solved. Looking worried, he stared at the gigantic pile of unsolved cases. 

He took a sip and twisted his mouth, disgusted. The coffee was cold. 

Promptly, his mood shifted. It had already costed him strength to start this tiring office work, but he had been procrastinating t for weeks now. It simply had to be done eventually. Hermione had exhorted him at least a dozen times already. 

With a rather sad glance to his mug, he put it beside him, next to the Daily Prophet which had been placed on his desk like every morning. Draco Malfoy’s face was displayed on the front page and the black, big font could not be skipped. 

'Ex-Death Eater back with another Death Eather gathering?'

Harry’s stomach tightened because of two reasons as he stared at the inscrutable face on the front page. The first thing he thought about was the fight they had had last night, how much he missed him, and how furious he was that it had degenerated again. The second reason affiliated to the fact that the Prophet still, after all these years, published and supported stupid lies. As if there were no more serious matters in this world. 

Harry looked back at the files in front of him. 

Matters existed, more than enough. 

He glanced at his watch. Normally, he would have already gone home, would have been welcomed by Draco, and they would have eaten dinner together. But that was not going to happen today. 

Sullenly, he took five folders from the pile and started sorting each to its appropriate pile.

A part of him regretted writing that note. He was aware of the fact that Draco knew when Harry really meant something and when he didn’t. Which was why he expected Draco to be actually gone before he would come back home. And precisely that part of him bemoaned the circumstances of sleeping alone tonight. 

Once more, he grabbed some files and placed them on their piles. 

A different part in him, however, was mad at Draco. That he simply accepted his life as it was because this life was not at all justified. The court had cleared Draco of all his charges, though with hours of community services. And he had worked off his hours dutifully, had fallen into a deep hole again afterwards which Harry had helped him out of. 

He finished sorting the last folders to their piles, then he leaned back, satisfied. 

He remembered well how Draco had proudly announced his job for Borgin & Burkes. And how big the fight had been they had slipped into right after his solemn declaration because Harry had suggested working at the Ministry would be a better solution. But never had an argument ended with Harry sending him off. Because he knew that Draco didn’t have anyone. He didn’t dare going back to his mother in Malfoy Manor. He didn’t want to admit but Draco was still shaped by the events of his past. 

Harry rose with a stiff back, with his hand on his hips, and looked upon his finished work, thoroughly satisfied. 

And even if his thoughts were still circling around Draco, he cast a Patronus and sent it to Hermione to report her his work and to tell her to bring some of her magical boxes to store away the dusty files. Then he picked up his mug, flicked his wand and the rest of cold coffee vanished. He placed the cup on his desk and stretched his back. After Draco had told him he didn’t need Harry, he had been awake the entire night. For the first time since they got together, they had slept turned away from each other. And even if Draco had been literally one turn away from him, it had felt like miles between them. 

Shortly after Harry had written the note, trembling with rage, left it on the kitchen table, climbed in the chimney and disappeared, he had wanted to return and burn it. But he hadn’t. And instead he had been worrying about Draco packing his bags, how he could have had reacted, how Draco had been doing, but especially trying to figure out how Harry himself was feeling. 

There was a swoosh and seconds later Hermione appeared from the chimney, coughing. She carried two of her magical, foldable boxes under her arm.  
“You really need to clean your chimney, Harry.” 

“Good evening to you, too”, he grinned, pulling her into a hug. 

She embraced his hug, then turned away abruptly and sneezed. She threw a meaningful face at him. 

“Fine, it has been added to my list.” 

Another face. 

“I got one. In my head.” 

Hermione only shook her curls und addressed herself to the piles on the floor. Her face changed into a satisfied expression. Immediately, Harry grew proud that he had stopped procrastinating his task and finished it, finally. He made a mental tick behind this point. 

“Very well”, said Hermione, “you can store all solved cases into a box.” 

She gave Harry a flat box, and touched the other one with the tip of her wand. At once, it transformed itself into a square. Hermione placed it on the floor. 

“What about the second pile?”, Harry asked. 

He looked at his best friend. She scratched her head, thoughtfully. 

“Maybe sort them regarding category.” 

“Isn’t this enough?”, Harry asked, suddenly very exhausted. 

The thought of dismantling the huge pile didn’t meet much excitement in Harry. But on the other hand, he was not really looking forward to returning to an empty apartment either. Not knowing what would be waiting for him. He certainly didn’t know what to do if he met Draco in the most unimaginable case he had ignored Harry’s note. But he also knew that he was not able to handle a quiet, empty apartment. The image of returning to no Draco seemed even worse to him. 

“No, it is enough”, said Hermione pensively, “but if you really want to have it all sorted out – which I can highly recommend – it would be better to arrange them after their categories.” 

“Yeah, I’m doing it”, Harry said quickly. 

Rather a busy office than an empty home, which still smelled of green tea that Draco had drunken every day. 

Hermione observed him, surprised. 

“Really?”

Harry nodded. 

“Brilliant”, she smiled, “let me fetch the small boxes as well.” 

Again, Harry nodded and considered the big pile that waited for him to take it apart. 

Everything was better than an empty apartment, he thought and missed Draco suddenly more than he wanted to. Shouldn’t he have sent him away? 

“Harry, everything’s okay?” 

Hermione had moved to the chimney and looked concerned. He turned to her and nodded. 

“Uh yeah, why?” 

She tilted her head. 

“Everything’s okay with Draco?” 

Harry felt silent. 

“You know the Prophet is telling bullshit.” 

“Yeah I know”, said Harry quickly, “it’s just…” 

He hesitated. Did he want to talk about it? 

“You have fought again, haven’t you?” 

Harry bit his lip. He knew what Hermione and Ron thought about their relationship. The amount of arguments he and Draco had already had, had been more than they both had had during their time in school. And the times that Harry had appeared in their flat, hysterically upset each time, was still quite present to both of them. 

“It’s clearly not healthy, fighting that often!” 

Harry remained silent. He knew it wasn’t healthy but still, they had been able to solve every argument. But this time it felt different. This time Draco had told him, more clearly than enough, that he didn’t need Harry. And Harry had sent him off. His feeling stirred up again, he was shaking. 

“Maybe you should talk about it and think about what’s best for you.” 

Hermione had talked quietly and tentatively, and Harry knew that it must have cost her great courage because she was aware of how much Draco and Harry meant to each other. And he also knew that she had wanted to say this since the fifth fight they had. 

Harry didn’t blame her. Fighting, making up, sex, fighting again, sex, two days off, then yet another fight. That’s not how a relationship should look like but still it felt right. 

“I’m afraid it’s over now anyway”, Harry said faintly. 

Hermione’s eyes grew big. 

“Are you sure? You will have figured it out by tomorrow, I’m certain. Go to the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow morning and then you’ll talk.” 

The corner of his mouth quirked briefly as he realised how Hermione had guessed – probably correctly – where Draco might be spending this night. However, he shook his head. 

“It’s different this time.” 

Hermione considered him. Then she approached him and pulled him into a warm hug. She stroked his dark hair before she backed off and located his eyes. 

“Whatever happened, I am sure that Draco thinks about it as much as you do, looking for a solution. He needs you and you need him. You need each other. I know you well enough, Harry. Go after him and talk to him.” 

Harry swallowed and took a deep breath. 

“Our relationship isn’t even a proper relationship.” 

“Don’t say that”, Hermione protested. 

“But it’s true. Hermione, we fight, have sex, and fight again.” 

She blushed. Harry turned his face and they fell silent for a while. Them she raised her voice. 

“Every relationship is different”, she said, “think about how you both acted in the past. You used to hate each other! I think you can’t have a different relationship.”  
She looked at him. 

“Sure, a couple of fights less wouldn’t be too bad but overall you both are like that. Your manners, your kind of relationship is entirely different than Ron’s and mine but that does not mean yours is no relationship at all. Maybe you just need to figure things out.” 

Harry considered her words. They didn’t seem too much of a help to him now but he was thankful for Hermione’s effort in trying to talk him a good conscience, and he nodded. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

She nodded, stroked his arm and turned to his chimney. 

“Thank you, Hermione”, Harry said, smiling. 

She replied with a smile and disappeared in green flames. 

 

Secretly, Draco was glad that he had overslept dinner. Because in that way he had avoided all the curious glances. Ever since his arrival, witches and wizards had bombarded him with looks which had almost driven him mad. Stuffed with good food, he walked up the creaking stairs. It was late but the fresh food in his stomach and his wild thoughts kept him wide awake. 

He entered his shabby room and would have loved to reverse at once. 

Actually, the feeling was familiar to him. How often had he come here after a fight with Harry, having the urge to return to his flat immediately after entering one of the building’s run-down rooms. This time it wasn’t his pride that kept him from returning. He didn’t care about his pride. But he knew it couldn’t go back. 

He glimpsed at the crinkled piece of parchment on his bed, walked right past it and leant against the window instead. 

It was as if he didn’t even dare to approach the note because that meant reading it over and over again. And over and over again it would remind him of how lonely he felt. 

Draco sighed and leant his forehead against the window glass. 

The walls were trembling as another train drove by, its speed swirling up his thoughts. 

It was wrong, and it had been a lie, saying that he didn’t need Harry. 

Because he did. 

And he wanted him. He wanted to see him, smell him, approach him, feel him, taste him. Everything. 

And it drove Draco mad that Harry had made him become so damn vulnerable. Maybe he was simply scared of himself and his enormous feelings that suddenly seemed to slumber within him, impending to explode. No one ever had taught him how to deal with feelings and how to express them to others, nor to himself.  
How were you supposed to do that without appearing weak? 

He closed his eyes and shiny, green eyes came vividly into sight. They had that charisma, each time when Harry looked at Draco after having sex. Fuelled with passion and lust they stared into his own grey eyes every night. He though about the dark hair which he had to tug behind his ears because Harry had let them grow so much. He thought about the way he tilted his head when he stroked Draco’s neck, only to bend over and lock their lips. 

A shiver of emotions ran over him and he couldn’t help but enjoy the hurricane they produced and that was whirling up his body right now. 

No, he needed that Gryffindor-Auror. But how the hell was he supposed to tell him?

 

Exhausted, Harry stored the last file of its pile in a box and closed it. He shoved it aside, quite satisfied, and dedicated himself to the last pile of unsolved cases. Hermione had returned again with five smaller boxes as he had been filling the big box with folders of finished commissions. After he had been done with that part, it had taken quite some time to sort the many – way too many – unsolved cases into different categories. One hour had passed by during which he had tried to find an appropriate order to the piles. And as the clock showed almost half past 11, he was finally done. 

Yawning, Harry touched another small box with the tip of his wand, it built up itself within a second and he started storing more folders. Those ones consisted of magical creature crimes that haven’t been solved yet. 

Meanwhile, he was longing for his bed a little more. But only the thought of his bed was sabotaged by thoughts of Draco who was probably sleeping at the Leaky Cauldron tonight. If he was fast asleep by now? Harry put the last file in the small box and considered it. They had been casted with an Extension Charm, enabling them to store more than they looked like. This way he was able to place them next to his desk and stow lots of folders. 

Only one pile was left now. 

Feeling internally torn apart whether he should be happy to be almost done with this arduous task or feel panicky of going home because that meant no Draco, he started stowing the last files into the box. 

Hermione’s words were running through his mind. 

And he felt terrible, so terrible, that he had written that note. Harry knew perfectly well how lonely Draco was. And still he was mad every time he thought about how stubborn Draco was. Maybe he really should stop by the Leaky Cauldron after breakfast tomorrow morning and talk to him. He stretched his tense neck. 

A sudden though occurred to him and he felt his heart dropping. 

Maybe Draco really have had enough. Maybe Harry had overplayed. He knew Draco didn’t like talking about other people’s perception of him. And he had always respected it, though he didn’t want him to live worse than he deserved. 

Feeling quite uneasy, he closed the last small box and placed it on top of the others. 

Done. 

But still Harry didn’t move, thunderstruck. 

He stared at his hands. 

What if Draco didn’t want to expect him anymore? 

Neither at home, nor at the Leaky Cauldron. 

Maybe he was already somewhere else, anywhere but where he had gone the times before. Where Harry had found him in the morning, where they had made up, and had went back home from. 

He thought about the many times he had entered Draco’s room. Mostly, their reconciliation proceeded the same. Nobody saying anything, they had always understood each other without expressing themselves. Their faces had spoken more than they would have ever been able to speak. Their bodies would have found each other, pressed against each other. As if that was the only thing they had always needed. 

Only that it wasn’t true, Harry realised. 

He needed Draco, his moles on his neck, the smell of green tea in his apartment, the black shirts that were everywhere, and the shampoo ‘for blonde hair’ in his shower. 

Harry jumped to his feet, shoved the boxed aside, next to his desk, before grabbing his bag and throwing in his parchment and quills. 

In his hectic rush, he stamped on the Daily Prophet that had been laying on the floor. Moving swiftly, he picked it up and stared at Draco’s blank expression. Of all pictures the Prophet had chosen the picture that had been taken right after the hearing against his father where he, to people’s surprise, had appeared to testify against him. The bags under his eyes had never been this dark and hollow. 

Harry remembered that he had met Draco in that bar a few days after. 

Those grey eyes sunk into his own green while he kept on staring at the blonde man’s picture. And all of a sudden, he could not wait to see him and talk to him.  
Harry knew what to do. 

He shouldn’t have never written on that parchment. He shouldn’t have left the parchment on that table. 

 

His lids heavy, Draco considered himself in the mirror. Cold waterdrops dripped from individual strands of his hair that fell into his face. He had taken a cold shower because he had the feeling warm water might be have a constricting effect on him. Generally, he preferred cold showers over warm ones. Cold made him feel more alive. He had wrapped a towel around his waist, his upper body was naked, and his pale skin seemed even lighter in contrast to the towel’s dark fabric.

Draco tilted his head and observed the two marks Harry had left again. 

His stomach tightened as he ran over the red spots, softly, and remembered the feeling of Harry’s lips on his skin. 

A hint of goose bumps covered his body. Hastily, he shook his head and looked at his own bitter expression of his reflection. 

Waterdrops trickled down his face and bare back. He stared into his grey eyes once more and asked himself, desperately, how people conveyed feelings. 

How should he be able to express his feelings to Harry if he wasn’t even able to explain them to himself?

Sobered, Draco turned from his reflection and walked back into his room. 

There he put on fresh underwear, sweatpants and a hoodie. He rubbed his blonde hair dry with his towel and sat down on the squeaking mattress. Exhausted, his hands ran over his face, through his hair, resting his elbows on his knees. 

Would he be able to escape this? 

Draco rose with a jerk and rang the bronze bell the woman had drawn attention to earlier.

He leaned against the cupboard and pulled on the strings of his hoodie. He thought about Harry and how he was probably sitting in his apartment and… What was Harry doing? 

Draco breathed in deeply, and out noisily. 

A knocking on the door. 

“Yes?” 

“What can we do for you?”

A young man was behind the door and smiled at Draco, friendly. He guessed him around 22 years. He had dark, curly hair and a rather wide mouth. Draco had never seen him before, he must have just started working for Tom. 

“May I get some tea?”, he asked him. 

The man nodded. 

“Sure. Any wishes?”

“Green tea.” 

Again that cocky smile on the boy’s face. 

“Good choice. Anything else?” 

He either wasn’t aware of who was standing in front of him, didn’t know anything about the rumours that had been heard everywhere, or he simply didn’t care about Draco. His friendliness surprised Draco thoroughly positively. Besides, there was something calming about him that Draco had almost asked if he would mind staying. Only to keep smiling at him, so that he wouldn’t feel too lonely. 

But he just smiled back and shook his head. 

“Will be back with the tea in short.” 

“Thank you.” 

The boy winked and closed the door. The sudden silence that had returned to the room hit Draco like a gust of wind. 

He didn’t want to be alone. 

He shoved off the cupboard and found himself standing indecisively in the middle of the room. He looked at his hands. He felt so lost without Harry. It was preposterous how many times they had fought, yet he had never felt that helpless. As if they had reached their limit and the switch had been shifted. This argument had been one argument too much. 

Draco moved to the window. He hadn’t noticed that it had started raining. The wind swept big raindrops against the glass and he could only discern blurry outlines in the distance. He turned away. 

Harry’s and his relationship had never been perfect. At least not for society. But for Draco it had always felt right. Fighting never was nice but the sex afterwards had almost always been worth the fight. A bit. 

Somebody knocked on the door again. 

This time Draco approached the door and opened it himself. 

The black-haired boy smile at him, carrying a small black mug. The smell of good green tea rose to Draco’s nose. He smiled back. 

“Thanks.” 

“Let me put it down”, the boy said. 

He passed Draco and placed the mug on the ugly cupboard. Then he slipped by him again. 

“Good night”, he grinned one more time. 

“Yeah, good night.” 

He walked down the corridor and Draco closed the door. He lifted the hot cup, absorbed the familiar scent with relish, and sat down on the bed. Pursing his lips, he took a careful sop and enjoyed the homey taste. At once, he sensed the feeling of intimacy and his thoughts drifted to Harry. 

Once again it knocked on the door. 

Annoyed because Draco was not able to drink his tea in piece, but also somehow relieved that he was, though weirdly, entertained and didn’t have to be on his own, he stood up and walked to the door, the hot mug in his hand. 

He opened the door. 

“Hi.” 

Boiling hot tea swashed over his hand. Cursing, Draco placed the tea hastily on the cupboard, but he moved too quickly and the china fell on the wooden floor, bursting into pieces. The hot water had burned his hand but he barely noticed the pain. 

He was too occupied staring at Harry’s appearance. 

“Hi”, he repeated. 

Draco now felt a faint burning in his hand and his wrist but still his attention and eyes belonged to Harry only. 

His green eyes explored his own grey which merely stared back, defenceless. 

This, he hadn’t expected. And as he looked the dark-haired in the door frame, all emotions were raining down on him, he didn’t even dare to try to grasp them into words. Unavailingly, he attempted opening his mouth, to say something but he didn’t want to fuck it all up. Not again. 

“I’m going to let myself in then”, said Harry and closed the door behind him. 

Draco stepped back. 

“Let me see your hand.” 

Demandingly, Harry reached out for Draco’s hand, he, however, didn’t move. Instead, he was agonising how to tell him that he was sorry, that he needed him and that he just wanted Harry to know what he meant to him. But the words kept spinning around, helplessly. 

Harry rolled his eyes and caught at Draco’s hand himself. 

The sudden touch brought his muscles back to life. Moving swiftly, he had pulled Harry close and had pressed his lips onto his. Without any hesitance, Harry slung his arms around Draco’s neck and he felt his body tight against his. Desperately, he tried to convey all his feelings and emotions through this kiss, that sensual touch, and he hoped Harry realised how much he needed him. 

But Harry detached from him as quick as he had returned his kiss. 

“Draco”, he said. 

Draco’s heart sank. 

He looked into Harry’s green eyes, then he averted and stroked over his burning wrist which he suddenly was even more aware of. 

“Why did you come?”, he asked, trying to hide his stifled voice. 

He sat down on the bed. The mattress squeaked under his weight. Harry was still standing at the door, observing him with an inscrutable expression. 

“The note that I wrote-“ 

“Has been noted.” 

Draco spread his arms, widely. 

“I’ve made myself home”, he said.

Harry shook his head. 

“I shouldn’t have written that.” 

“Yes, you should have.” 

Draco rubbed his thumb over his burned skin. Harry looked at him, confused. 

“I would have done the same if I had been you”, Draco explained, shrugging.

“Then you would understand how terrible I feel now.” 

Harry approached Draco. 

“Not as terrible as I feel.” 

Harry laughed. “Is that some sort of competition? Who feels the worst?” 

Draco’s corners of his mouth twirled and for a second he glanced at him. They felt silent. And in his mind, he was trying to build up words, sentences that to some degree expressed what he felt. But it was difficult. 

“Draco.” 

Draco lifted his head. 

 

And when Draco looked at Harry with the same expression that he had approached him in that bar, he knew. He needed him. And he didn’t need to tell him. Their relationship went differently than Hermione’s and Ron’s. She had been right. And maybe this fight wasn’t the fight that had ended everything but the one that showed them how much they meant to each other. 

“Draco.” 

Harry crouched down before him and placed his hands upon his knees.

“Harry”, said Draco. 

They examined each other for a while and neither said a word. Harry didn’t need to look for the right words because there were none. No words could describe or explain their relationship. 

“I make better green tea.” 

“Definitely.” 

“First reason to come back home”, Harry said with a crooked smile. 

Draco leaned back his head. 

“You sent me off”, he said slowly, though Harry heard a silent grin behind those words, “what else you have to offer?” 

He faced Harry, straightforwardly. 

“Dusty files on magical creature crimes.” 

“Meh.” 

“A softer mattress.” 

“Better.” 

“Chili con carne a la Potter.” 

“Sounds fair.” 

“Muggle movies.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Morning sex.” 

Draco tilted his head, now smirking, satisfied. 

“Tell me more.” 

“Sex in bed.” 

“Boring.” 

“Couch?” 

“Better.” 

“The ugly armchair that actually really belongs to the trash.” 

Draco chuckled and examined Harry defiantly. 

“Can’t turn that one down, can I?”

Harry grinned and pressed the blonde with a swift movement against the hard mattress which creaked under the heavy weight of both. 

“Can the bed be trusted?”, Harry whispered against Draco’s lips. 

Draco’s mouth twisted, amused, and he shook his head. 

“Nah, rather the ugly armchair.”

“Then let’s go.” 

“Will you make me tea?” 

“I loathe you.” 

“You don’t”, grinned Draco and strapped on his bag. 

“I know”, Harry sighed. 

Then they took each other’s hand and Disapperated.


End file.
